Outside Looking In
by Alabaster86
Summary: Set after the events of Season 2, the relationship between Daryl and Carol continues to grow.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Takes place just after "Beside the Dying Fire'

**Outside Looking In**

Sleep was a long time coming for any of the group. Beth, not quite the youngest, but the most innocent, dropped of first, warm in her father's arms. Maggie reached out and stroked the teenager's hair, a motherly gesture, one that tugged hard at Carol's heart. She choked back another sob and wiped tears from her gentle blue eyes.

_All I ever do is cry or scream or wait. What use am I? Why am I here? What part do I play in this ever changing group?_

As Daryl had pointed out once in that brusque, cruel way he had, Carol was no longer wife, no longer mother. She had lost her identity, the one thing she had clung to through the terrible years of her marriage and the terrible times since the plague had stricken them. Which was worse, she often wondered. At least Ed was gone. _That _was a good thing, a wonderful thing and she refused to feel bad or guilty about the freedom her soul now experienced. The dangers Carol faced in this new world were impersonal ones; hunger, walkers, stray bullets, accident.

Ed, that bastard had destroyed her personhood bit by painful bit. With every punch and every smack and every shove, Carol had become smaller, shrunken in on herself, a meek, quiet creature, a nothing and a nobody.

Lost in thought, she moved away from the tight circle by the fire. Carol felt Daryl's eyes on her. She kept her back to him and tried to hug herself warm. The thin sweater she wore did little to beat back the cool of the Georgia autumn night.

"Don't wander off," the hunter ordered gruffly. "We've lost enough people already." He kicked halfheartedly at the ground. "Stupid bi…"

Carol whirled around, eyes blazing with a rage that she rarely expressed. "Don't you call me that! Don't you ever call me that again!"

She stalked toward him then, hand upraised, ready to slap. Daryl grabbed hold of her wrist and held on, just tightly enough to stop her. He wore an infuriating smirk.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Nice to see you have some spunk." He dropped his voice then, and it became gentler, softer, and his eyes scanned Carol's face, kind eyes now, filled with a confused affection. "I'm sorry and I won't."

The others watched the little drama play out before them, dropping their gazes when both Carol and Daryl turned to look at them.

"We don't fit in," Carol observed mournfully. She hugged herself again. It was a poor substitute for Sophia's arms around her. Grief hit her then and she wanted to fall to her knees, scream and rage and beat at the earth with her fists until they were raw and bloody.

"Hell, woman, I ain't ever fit in anywhere. I'm used to it." And he was. Daryl purposely isolated himself. Being alone was better. Depending on no one was better too. Wasn't it? "Besides, they all act like they're in some goddamned soap opera. I don't want no part of that."

Carol snorted. It was true enough. Then she saw the expression on Daryl's face. He looked as though he wanted to vomit. She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

"You're right."

"Course I am. " He reached out and touched her shoulder, a barely there touch, one she could hardly feel, but one that still meant so much. "It's nice to hear you laugh."

"Feels good," the woman admitted.

The fire crackled and the breeze grew colder and stronger. Carl was asleep now and Lori too. Carol was dead on her feet, but wasn't quite ready to allow herself the luxury of closing her eyes.

"Daryl?"

"What?"

"I'm tired of being helpless and weak. I wanna learn how to take care of myself. Will you teach me?"

He stared at her appraisingly and must have liked what he saw. "We'll start tomorrow."

Grateful, Carol cupped his cheek. Daryl shrugged off her hand but he was pleased nevertheless.

~~~~0000~~~~

A/N: That's my first attempt at 'The Walking Dead' fanfiction. Daryl is the character I find most compelling and the one I root for. Judging by the other fanfics here, I'm not alone in that feeling.

His relationship with Carol is worth exploring, I think, and I might do more of that.

Feedback is greatly appreciated.

Alabaster


	2. Chapter 2

**Outside Looking In**

_**Chapter 2: God and Violence**_

"It ain't gonna be easy, you know," Daryl warned her. "You wanna be a bad ass, it takes some work. And you gotta have a kill instinct, you understand what I mean?"

Carol nodded her head with vigor but she wasn't really listening to Daryl's words. The night had passed uneventfully, thank the lord, and she had even managed a few hours of fitful sleep. It was time to move out now, find gas and supplies and a refuge. She snorted derisively. Hershel's farm had seemed like something out of a storybook; beautiful old wood frame house filled with love and memories, gold coloured fields that stretched out and out, the forest, verdant and rich, alive with game and, and walkers. There was _no_ refuge, _no_ haven, not anywhere. Their group and anyone left alive out there would be pursued and hunted and slain until not one human being remained to remember anything or anybody.

The thought was a grim, defeatist one, not the kind Carol typically had. But losing her little girl, her only child, watching her lurch out of that barn, moaning and hungry, hearing the gun fire as Rick put her down, well that changed a woman. And their near escape from the farm, the herd of walkers that just kept coming and coming, the fire blazing orange and hot against the cool of the night, that had changed her too. Hope was a difficult commodity to come by. She ran on pure survival instinct now and sometimes Carol wished that instinct would shut the hell up and leave her be.

"You're not even listenin' to me, are you woman?" Daryl threw his hands up in frustration. "Carol!"

"I heard," she lied and badly. He glared. "All right, I didn't hear."

"You okay?"

"Okay? What does that mean exactly nowadays?"

Daryl wasn't prone to melodrama or religion or philosophy. His life had always been a tough one. Surviving his father and Merle took most of his energy. There wasn't a lot of time for much else. The world _now_, well, he'd been raised for it. Carol, conversely, couldn't be more ill suited. He needed to find in her some core of steel, some cool rage that could be honed until it was blade sharp and deadly. He snickered at the thought.

"Am I funny to you?" She pursed her lips together tightly.

"Nope; and I s'ppose 'okay' means not dying. Look, Carol, we don't have time for anything now. We gotta get supplies and get moving. When we're settled somewhere, I'll teach you a few things."

He recalled Carol running helplessly away from the walkers, no way and no means of defending herself. It wasn't right. Even the boy knew how to shoot a gun. There was no room for pacifism now.

"Settled," she echoed. "We'll never be settled, Daryl."

"Maybe not, but we're gonna try." He pulled a knife from his belt. It was serrated and wicked looking and it frightened Carol. "Take it," he commanded as he grabbed hold of her hand. "Keep it somewhere safe. If a walker comes at you, what do you do?"

Carol stood there mutely, the knife dangling, impotent, from her fingertips.

"I asked you a question." He shook the woman now. "What do you do?"

"Stab it," she answered, no emotion at all in her voice. "Stab it in the head, through the eye."

"Right, and you keep stabbing until it ain't moving anymore. Put some muscle behind it. You can do it, Carol."

Her voice cracked the tiniest bit. "I don't want to." She sounded like a weak little child and Carol hated herself for it.

"But you will, if you have to. Tell me that you will. I can't always protect you."

"I will. I will, Daryl, I promise."

He left her then, off to speak with Rick and Hershel about their plans for the day.

~~~~0000~~~~

T-Dog and Glenn stood guard, guns cocked and ready, while the women gathered firewood for the upcoming night. Glenn, his eyes focusing more on his lover than on the surrounding vistas, was visibly on edge as Maggie walk alongside the road, picking up dead tree branches, twigs and dry leaves for kindling.

Carol's arms were full, but her mind was on Daryl. He and Rick and Hershel had gone back to the highway to siphon gas and forage for whatever food and drink remained in the mess of wrecked vehicles and decaying bodies. She set the wood down by the remnants of last night's fire and then turned her face up to the sun.

It amazed her still that the earth continued to turn and the sun stubbornly showed its face every day. Autumn, the season of dying, and the season of beauty, was upon them now. Fallen leaves skittered across the secondary road, driven by the strong breeze, and the forest was awash with brilliant reds, duller maroons, crisp oranges and faded yellows. The leaves made that crunching noise Carol loved so much, the sound that brought back memories of Sophia playing in a huge pile of gathered leaves and memories of her own childhood, burning leaves and burning wood, sunlight streaming down through the trees, branches half naked, the sky a blue so intense it made her heart ache.

She'd seen the glory of God in nature once. Now, now Carol wasn't quite sure what she saw. That, her wavering faith, sometimes it bothered her more than the walkers. But it was the walkers who had precipitated her religious crisis, the walkers and their killing and their eating, appetites that went on and on and on. She shivered and once again wished for warmer clothes. The woman had a sick feeling, though, that no amount of sweaters or coats or sunshine could ever make her feel truly warm again.

_Daryl can._

The thought came random and unbidden and it shocked Carol. Daryl Dixon was a rough man, a hard man and he could be a cruel man. But he was other things too; determined, protective, tender, decent and underneath everything, good. She gave her head a shake and then sat down to wait. There really was nothing else to do.

~~~~0000~~~~

"Here, I found this." Daryl tossed a heavy sweater her way. Someone had packed with the future in mind. It was red, a beautiful red, and it was soft too and felt good against Carol's skin. "Well, stop gawkin' at me. Put it on."

Ed wouldn't let her wear red. That was a colour for sluts and harlots. But she had always loved the colour and coveted every red dress or red blouse or red coat that she laid eyes on. She smiled at him, a smile that lit up her eyes and made her look beautiful. "Thank you."

Daryl brushed it off. "You were cold. Now you won't be." He shuffled from one foot to the other. "There's a prison over that way." He pointed off into the distance. "It's not too far. Rick thinks we should take it, make it ours. I agree."

Carol blinked and then nodded. The plan seemed reasonable enough. They couldn't stay out here forever. They needed real shelter. Winter was coming.

"There'll be walkers, lots of them." He hoisted a baseball bat that he had found and handed it over to Carol. "Another present for you; I'm feeling mighty generous today. Bash their heads in. Once you've done a few, it won't bother you so much."

She gulped and felt gorge rise to her mouth. Violence wasn't in her nature. Or maybe it was and she simply hadn't discovered it yet. Maybe violence was a part of every human being. Maybe some just covered it up better than others. "I'll try."

"Trying gets ya killed. You'll do it. Once we're inside, we'll find guns. I'm gonna teach you how to handle one." He wasn't asking permission. It was an order of sorts, an order that arose from wanting to protect Carol, but an order nonetheless.

"All right." Her mouth was a thin, hard determined line now. She could be useful for once, do something besides wash dirty underwear.

Rick's voice calling a meeting shattered the private little moment between her and Daryl. They both moved forward, but both hung back too, staying on the fringes of the group where each thought they belonged.


	3. Chapter 3

**Outside Looking In**

_**Chapter 3: Baptism**_

Daryl was gone again and once more Carol was afraid. She had lived with fear most of her life. First she had worried for her own skin and her soul too, as Ed grew more and more abusive over the early years of their marriage. She was always cringing and folding in on herself like some flimsy paper napkin you got with your greasy meal from a cheap fast food restaurant. She constantly expected a sharp word or a sharp slap or a teeth rattling shake.

If Ed ever spoke with civility or ignored Carol, she felt uneasy. The violence was routine now. Somehow it was what she deserved. What other reason could there be for the calculated viciousness of his attacks? When she escaped it for a day or two, the woman knew full well that Ed would make up for that somehow, give her a real good beating that had her housebound for days, limping and clutching onto furniture as she did her chores. No amount of makeup could cover the lurid blacks and blues that highlighted her cheeks and eyes.

Her pregnancy, her first and only one, was one of the best times of Carol's life. She wanted the child as much as she had once wanted Ed's love, more even. Carol hoped for a girl, hoped for one stronger than she had ever been, a sweet little girl to bond with. She_ feared_ the child would be a girl, a female growing up under the blanketing shadow of Ed, hearing the beatings at night after she'd gone to bed, hearing her mother's muffled moans, her pleas for mercy, wondering if all girls, all mothers, all wives got kicked and punched, waiting for Daddy's hands and Daddy's eyes to find _her_.

When the child was inside her, it was safe. Carol knew that wasn't strictly true. Her mind knew. But when she carried that baby, and felt it grow, kicking and punching at her insides so hard sometimes, Carol got the impression she was being beaten from within _and_ from without, it was _hers_ and hers alone. Ed couldn't touch the child. Hell, Ed didn't want to. He was completely disinterested.

But during those nine months, Carol had something all to herself, something sweet and pure and good. Once the child was born, she loved fiercely and she worried and protected even harder.

~~~~0000~~~~

When she spotted them creeping back through the underbrush, Daryl, Rick and Hershel, Daryl with his crossbow slung over his shoulder, Carol closed her eyes for a moment and said a silent prayer of thanks. It was like that now, anytime that _anyone_ made it home alive and unhurt. Death was almost like breathing, death and pain and loss. A safe return was something to be celebrated.

Her blue eyes sought out Daryl's, searching for something, something she hadn't quite placed yet. He gave her that little nod, that slight inclination of his head that was both greeting and acknowledgement. She nodded back and the corners of her mouth quirked upward, not quite enough to call the expression a smile.

The group gathered around Rick, their appointed leader, a tenuous position at the best of times. He was a man of few words, like Daryl, and didn't bother skirting the issue.

"We checked out the prison as best we could. There are walkers outside, plenty of 'em. Can't say how many are wandering around inside. But I'm sure there are plenty there too." He glanced at Lori, and she looked away, not ready yet to forgive what he'd done to Shane. It didn't matter how much sense it had made, how much Rick had needed to do it, he had killed Shane, _Shane_. "I don't see any other choice. Running is useless. We're taking the prison and we're making it ours, our home, ours to keep and defend." This time his gaze took in everyone. "Are there objections?" Silence was returned. "Then we start making plans, around the fire tonight."

~~~~0000~~~~

Lunch was a few cans of beef stew heated up over the fire and served in Styrofoam cups, scooped into eager mouths with plastic spoons. After the food at the farm, the eggs and the fresh chicken and the vegetables, the fare was meager, over salted and pretty much tasteless. But it partially filled the void in their stomachs.

"Goin' huntin'," Daryl informed everyone once he had shoved in his portion. He jerked his thumb at Carol then. "She's comin' with me."

"You sure about that, Daryl?" Rick narrowed his eyes and gave Carol an appraising look. She squirmed and knew that the one-time sheriff thought little of her ability to handle herself in any kind of perilous situation. Carol thought little of that ability herself.

"We're gonna need every hand when we take that prison. She's gotta learn and I'm gonna teach her."

Rick was still uncertain. "All right; just…be careful." He felt ridiculous for saying that, such a useless comment.

The hunter didn't wait for the woman. Rather he turned his heel on the asphalt and headed off into the forest, expecting her to follow him.

Carol picked up her red sweater and slid her arms into the sleeves, grateful already for its warmth. She grabbed the bat too. It felt awkward in her hands, and she couldn't imagine using it as a weapon. Her eyes tracked Daryl. He seemed so distant already, the diluted autumn sunlight caressing him gently as a lover might, or a mother. He stepped into the shadows then, and for a moment she lost sight of the man. Carol trotted after him, trying her best to be stealthy. Daryl walked through the woods like a creature that was born to it; silent, graceful, ever watchful, aware of every noise and every smell. He was more at home there than anywhere else. It was people who scared him, not walkers and not death. In the forest, he was Daryl, the _real _Daryl, and he was at peace.

"I ain't got all day, woman." He glanced back at Carol, making her clumsy way through the thick bed of leaves, and let her catch up.

~~~~0000~~~~

Daryl put a finger to his lips. He pointed ahead, into deeper shadows. Carol didn't see the walker at first. But she listened hard and she heard its shuffling footsteps.

"This is it." Daryl pointed to Carol's bat. "They're slow. And I'll have an arrow trained on that fucker's head. Take care of it."

She flinched at the curse word before cluing in to what Daryl had proposed. No, it wasn't a proposition. This walker was hers. It was growling now, bestial and hungry, drawn by the scent of living flesh. Carol swallowed hard, once and then again. She wanted to turn and run. She wanted to drop the bat down onto the forest floor and head back to the safety of the road.

_But nowhere is safe. You have to do this. You have to._

"You can use the knife if you wanna. But with the bat, you won't have to get quite so close."

It had been a man once, an old man, Carol figured from the bits of grey hair that clung to the scalp. Its mouth was a gaping maw, only a few teeth remaining, and its lips, purplish coloured were curled back in a perpetual snarl. It stunk like decay and rot and death and everything terrible in the world. She covered her nose and her mouth, fought back a retch.

The pants it wore, polyester, old man pants, were ripped at the knees and coated with filth. It had no shoes and one big toe, the nail yellow and gnarled, poked out through a sock that once upon a time was white.

Daryl had drawn back his bow was ready to shoot. She stared at him for a beat. He almost smiled and Carol inched forward, the bat dragging along the ground. The walker wasn't certain who to attack. It wavered, its body swaying like a drunken dancer, before choosing Carol.

_Even they know I'm weak._

Taking a deep breath, she raised the bat above her head, let the walker get close enough to almost touch her, before bringing it down gingerly. The blow was a glancing one, the bat skittering off the thing's skull and then down to its shoulder.

"Again." Daryl's voice was calm. "Harder this time."

Carol stared at the walker, right into its vacant eyes, imagined the terror that her Sophia must have felt and struck it once more. Her aim was truer and Carol heard the sickening but satisfying crunch of bone. The walker was on its knees now, some perverted approximation of prayer. She took advantage and whacked it across the temple, knocking it over like a bowling pin.

"Finish it," the hunter urged. "You done good."

She was breathing hard and there was blood on her sweater, strange, thick, almost black blood. She felt it on her face too, cool and sticky. It repulsed her and she couldn't wait to scrub it away.

"Finish it."

The walker twitched and tried to get up. It scrabbled at the dirt reminding Carol of crabs at the seaside. She'd been there once, with Ed, before things got really bad. Ed; it was him on the ground, covered in dirt, broken, powerless. She brought the bat down one final time, crushing the skull, sending tiny bits of brain matter flying.

Daryl was pleased. Carol tried to be but she felt ill. Hunching over, she threw up onto the leaves. Wiping her mouth as best she could, she faced Daryl.

"I did it." The bat was covered with gore. She cleaned it off on the walker's shirt, shuddering a little bit.

The hunter touched his hand briefly to her shoulder. "You did it." He headed further into the woods without another word.

"Where are you going?" Carol called after him, her voice sounding faint and tremulous.

"_We're _goin' huntin', remember."

She caught up and fell into step beside Daryl.

"Later, I'll teach you how to use a gun."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Outside Looking In**_

_**Part 4: Under Cover**_

Carol followed for several minutes. Neither she nor Daryl said a word. But then, he was not a man for idle chatter. When Daryl spoke, it was because he had something to say, something of import to him or the object of his conversation. Words were never wasted and he considered carefully every one that fell off his tongue.

Lack of words did not negate communication. He turned his head every few seconds, making eye contact with his new hunting companion, making certain that she was there and all right. Eyes flicked over her body, checking, always checking for wounds of one kind or another.

She flushed a bit when she found her own eyes focusing on Daryl's behind. It was rather fine, and hell, why not appreciate the view God had afforded her that day? Her life, his life; both were perpetually on the verge of ending. Existence was a fragile thing now. Daryl was hunted as much as he was a hunter.

Life had always been about survival; making it through school, making it through another day with her husband, making it through church service without breaking down, without allowing her shattered self to show. An abusive husband and repression had been replaced by walkers and more walkers, humans with no morality at all, a day to day struggle for food and shelter. She'd had Sophia then and thought she would have her forever. Why was there always a trade-off? Sophia gone, Daryl growing and changing and finding his own way, becoming someone Carol depended on and cared for.

She sighed and concentrated on his ass once more.

"What's the matter?" Daryl turned and Carol blushed hard, the pale skin of her cheeks turning rosy pink.

"What do you mean? Nothing is the matter."

"I heard you sigh. What is it?"

Carol scoffed. Her voice was rife with disbelief. "You couldn't hear that."

"I'm a hunter. I spent, I _spend_," he amended "most of my time alone, in the woods. I know how to be quiet and I know how to listen. And I can hear all kinds of things. Your sigh was like a car alarm going off some Sunday morning back when we still had towns." He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to confess. He wouldn't force the issue but he was willing to hear her out. And he wouldn't talk much more either. That little speech was more than he usually said in a whole day.

"Fine; I was just thinking about how everything is so different but still the same. Do you know what I mean?" She couldn't mention what she'd thought about him, not yet.

"Sure," Daryl shrugged. "I used to hunt squirrel and deer. Now I hunt squirrel and deer and walkers." But I've changed, he wanted to add. If you'd seen me five years ago, you would have run away screaming. The old Carol would have anyway. She's changed too, he remembered. "Keep close." He urged her forward. "Don't fall behind."

Talk ceased once more. Carol attempted to really listen. She shut out the cacophony of her own mind, and tuned in to the forest. It was like changing stations on the car radio or switching the television channel with the remote from something discordant and loud to something soft and understated. The wind caressed what leaves remained on the trees. The dried out hangers on rustled, sounding something like soda crackers crushed between fingers before being dumped into a waiting bowl of soup. The coniferous trees with their tiny needles responded differently to the wind. They seemed to whisper words, soft words of adoration, one lover to another. Flies buzzed, the last of the season, those that hadn't slowed down and died yet. Tiny animals, chipmunks, rabbits, snakes, bustled and ran and slithered their way along the forest floor, disturbing the bed of leaves. Birds sang and chirped and flew through the maze of trees with alarming speed. And she heard moans too, distant, some stray walker, driven on by relentless instinct.

Daryl raised a hand, and stopped. He pointed to a pair of black squirrels circling the trunk of a massive oak tree, chasing each other just as young children might. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and loaded it into the crossbow. Carol felt a pang of sympathy for the creatures. Their fun was over. Death loomed. But it loomed for everyone. And Carol was hungry and Lori was pregnant.

She held her breath as Daryl aimed, pulled the bow back and fired. His movements were so fluid, so graceful and every time Carol watched him shoot, she felt awe at his skill. One squirrel dropped while the other clamored up the tree, chattering its distress. A few seconds later it joined the first one, dead and bloodied amongst the leaves.

Daryl picked them up by their bushy tails and stuffed them into a sack he carried. "I don't expect you to use the crossbow. It's heavy and takes a lot of practice. But you can help me track and keep an eye out for things. And a rifle will take down a deer."

"You want me to use a rifle?" She lowered her eyes and stared at the spot where the squirrels had been. "I, I don't know, Daryl."

"_I_ know; you can handle it." It didn't matter if she became a great hunter. What mattered was giving her something to do. What mattered was teaching her basic survival. What mattered was finding the lioness that slept somewhere inside, beyond that mouse-like exterior.

"All right, Daryl. I, I trust you." Right now, that was the sweetest gift Carol could offer anyone.

Daryl smiled and that was acceptance enough.

**The End**


End file.
